


A Psychopomp Walks into a Shaggy Dog Story

by Laysan_albatross



Category: Katekyou Hitman Reborn!
Genre: Abuse, Arcobaleno Curse (Katekyou Hitman Reborn!), BAMF Skull (Katekyou Hitman Reborn!), Creation Myth, Death, Depersonalization, Dubious Morality, Ethical Dilemmas, Fairy Tale Elements, Gen, Immortal Skull (Katekyou Hitman Reborn!), POV Second Person, Skull (Katekyou Hitman Reborn!)-centric, Strange Bedfellows, Violence, Worldbuilding
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-04-15
Updated: 2020-05-19
Packaged: 2021-03-01 18:33:48
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 15,581
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23661619
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Laysan_albatross/pseuds/Laysan_albatross
Summary: Skull learns of the mafia and Death sets him free.
Relationships: Death & Skull (Katekyou Hitman Reborn!)
Comments: 22
Kudos: 234
Collections: A Collection of Beloved Inserts





	1. Nel mezzo del cammin di nostra vita mi ritrovai per una selva oscura, ché la diritta via era smarrita.

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [lost boys like me are free](https://archiveofourown.org/works/13582308) by [Foxtron](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Foxtron/pseuds/Foxtron). 



> Inspired by 'The Hazel Wood' by Melissa Albert and 'A Monster Calls' by Patrick Ness

I stood by the headboard of your cot as you woke up from your seven-day coma, awareness emerging faster than most – and sensed eyes, unfamiliar and unfriendly, on your form. You were operating on instinct, as Clouds often do when at their weakest and most vulnerable. You deliberately opened your eyes slowly, feigned noises of rousing, and whined as if in pain.

Allow me to correct that last phrase. You are in pain. But it is nothing new.

**Dying is pain. Death is the void. The combination is what keeps the fires burning, a wrought potential transforming into power, so much so that nothing can suppress the memories attached to such trauma. You could, under extreme duress, recall all the times you had died and, even worse, almost died, as well as their associated time stamps, the events leading up to the black, and the method to which you revived. They make what you are and nothing, not even the indigo, can take that away from you.**

Everything else, however, was removed.

The first thing you saw was me. I waved like a wine stain on the wall in fluorescent light. You glanced past me without pausing towards the other two more tangible beings standing a few meters away, a transition so fluent that neither of them, despite their years of experience, caught upon the deception.

**I will introduce them, though a small part of you recognize them as like kind.**

**These are your two new associates. The one with the indigo aura is not human. He is a mask – of many masks, all emanating Mist and riddles. He touched you at your temples on the second day of your sleep because a blank slate is better manipulated than one embedded with a multitude of experiences. But he couldn’t take away your deaths. The other one with the orange aura is partly human. She is not pregnant, but she will be. Duty drives her, nips at her heels like a herding dog. You’ll notice the red silk strings of fate attached to her limbs when she moves and the slight upward pull to her back when she speaks.**

“How are you feeling?” She asked. “We found you,” - saved you -, “in the river. You’ve jumped off the bridge above.” She spoke the truth. “Do you remember that?”

“Skull do not remember anything.” You answered in accented Italian.

**You are a terrible liar.**

The one with the indigo mask inclined his head. The orange woman paused a beat and then smiled, “It may be better if you don’t. The details of your accident are not for the faint of heart. I shall give you the good news instead.” She handed you a familiar helmet, split clean in half, “This saved your life.”

“Tha--- Thanks,” You turned the remains over and over, fingering the jagged edges and, "Oh," froze when you felt a gathering of orange flames collect around your neck like an iron collar, dying will demanding repayment through servitude. “Thank you, cousins,” you staggered to your feet, attempting the motions of formality you learned so long ago, when your kind was still the dominant species of the world. “And in which way would you like me to express my gratitude?”

Her Sky flames then focused into a sharpened edge, branding that hollow space above your left collarbone a fleur de lis, with enough force to push you off your feet. You slammed towards the ground with a cry.

**You are in pain. It is hard to rise when you are in pain.**

The one with the indigo mask replied, condescension dripping through every syllable, “A hundred years of your time or until our satisfaction, whichever is earlier. Your presence is required for Fated Day.”

“It won’t be much work, in the grand scheme of things,” the orange lady added as you whined and clutched at your chest. You glared at her but did not fight further. From the whispers drifting in the wind, you were made vaguely aware of their predicament. The couple have placed themselves in the position as Earth’s guardians. Lately, desperation drove them to search for other solutions that were even less savory than prior. But you should not be considered a friendly ally. Though you shared history and ancestry, you were in no way affiliated with their plans.

**Though you are being forced to serve for the common good, you do not have to be accomodating.**

“Skull understands,” you forced out of gritted teeth. You kept to yourself the fact that the Arcobaleno will not last for another century at most because the one with the indigo mask knew that. You kept to yourself the fact that the orange lady would die within the generation, leaving behind a small child at her bedside who would be surrounded by humans and yet so alone because the orange lady knew that.

**Luce the Sky is Luce of the Giglio Nero. She has the sight, a powerful gift passed down her line in increasingly thinned blood.**

Your ancestor, four generations prior, had a sense of the coming storm, of typhoons and floods, but no more. You have me, occasionally whispering secrets of others into your right ear. The one with the indigo mask, Kawahira the Mist, as he will be known to strangers, inclined his head. The couple left you to your muddled thoughts. The door closed behind them.

You crawled back into the cot with great difficulty, groaning as you did so. You heaved a great sigh as I drew closer, violet flickering in and out of your skin. “What do you want from me?”

**It is not what I want from you, Skull de Mort. It is what you want from me.**

I touched your mark and it burn at the edges. You watched me and did not move.

**I cannot do much against her bindings, but I have answers. I have the gift of foresight, not as the clairvoyance of whatever name your kind has given yourself these days, but an omnipotence that is inherent in higher beings. I offer a sliver of hope in the following with equal amounts of suffering.**

“What? Why are you nice? Why are you here?" You crossed your arms. "Tell me!”

**Petulant Cloud. You have always held my favor.**

**Listen closely, Skull de Mort.**

I drew even closer.

**You will receive three stories. Three tales of what time has walked and will walk.**

You blinked. “You’re going to tell me stories? How is that bad?”

**Indeed. Stories are the wildest things of all. Stories chase and bite and hunt.**

“Skull can handle stories.”

**And when I have finished my three stories, you will tell me a fourth, and it will be the truth.**

You scoffed.

**Not just any truth. Your truth.**

**Then, and only then, will you be set free.**

====

A Psychopomp Walks into a Shaggy Dog Story

The other members of the I Prescelti Sette were not impressed by you and neither you by them. The mafia thought themselves superior for the ability to utilize dying wills to fight for their respective famiglias. Flames were like instincts, they were like hands, and not everyone used their hands to strangle. The argument of ideals further devolved until the Sun shot your ear off with his chameleon and watched you scream, pressing a gloved hand against the bloody hole. Being the seemly pious lady of grace, Luce handed you bandages and as you staunched the bleeding, she announced to the other six that you were their new Cloud.

Nobody believed her claim until the next morning when your ear grew back.

“Signora, how did you manage to find the one Cloud of such…” the Sun waved in our direction. He listed off a series of adjective native to his regional dialect, regarding slowness and annoyance. The Italians of the group smiled at his colorful descriptions. You twitched and immediately came to your own defenses. He would’ve shot you again if it wasn’t for Luce’s warning glance.

“It’s not usually like this!” You insisted, rubbing your ear, now whole. “Skull is not usually like that!”

**Humans are an ignorant bunch.**

If it was just that, however, you would’ve thought him cute like ants or termites or bees or other animals participating in unique social structures. But people like him never tried to rectify that and that tendency deserved your derision. I clung to their hands, their eyes, their hunger. The stronger I was, the more you were wary.

“He is your equal, Renato.” Luce sounded like she didn’t believe her own words. It was the second day and she was already starting to lose faith in you. Renato the Sun scoffed.

“What can he do to help us? Scream? Run? Duck?” With a finger, he beckoned you closer. I pulled you back. “Lacche, what did you do as a civilian?”

It took a while to find the correct terms. Again, Italian was not your primary language. This only raised Renato the Sun’s impatience and his glare made you ever more nervous. “In a tsirk. Cirque. Circus of umirayushcaya. Dusha? …Soul? I drive for my audience.”

The Rain rubbed her face while tapping a pen against the table. “That’s not too bad. As incompetent as he seems, your mafia always needs more chauffeurs. We’ll find a spot for him to settle into.”

“Mou. Missions will always need a getaway driver.” The Mist added.

You grasped at the thread. “I can do it. Skull is amazing at that.”

“We will see, Lacche.” Renato the Sun muttered.

And so, you drove. Sometimes away from chaos, sometimes away from Renato the Sun, sometimes away with Renato the Sun and cohorts. You never asked what their mission entailed, what went on in the buildings after they closed the door behind them, leaving behind strict instructions to not draw attention, and you were too afraid to ask, the coward that you were. If you had known, you would’ve tried to stop them with all the shrieking and crying welling up within you. But no, you cringed at the screams and the gunshots. You fumbled at keys and weapons alike until they snatched the offending items out of your hands, muttering in their chosen language under their breath. You stared warily at the group as they reemerged, victorious, never laughing or cheering, but self-satisfied in their own skins and in the presence of their teammates.

They came away after each mission knowing more and more about one another’s habits and quirks. There were more inside jokes and more lighthearted conversations around the table. Luce sat at the head of the table, serene and happy as keys clicked into place and comradery grew. You watched this unfold and you didn’t dare to speak for fear of choking. Their happiness was rolling waves of flame, hot and intrusive, throwing itself against your barricades. You wanted to tell them to stop. You did not belong and everyone was acutely aware of this fact.

**You are alone.**

Other times, you were the Rain’s personal driver. “It’s Lal Mirch. Not Lal Mirch the Rain. How many times do I have to repeat myself?”

“Sorry!”

She grunted and turned her attention back to the window. This conversation repeated often and never evolved past admonishments. No one could figure out why Lal Mirch entrusted you with her transportation needs; she has a low tolerance for stupidity which was what Renato the Sun claimed you possessed in spades. But you have competence in just this and maybe that made up for everything else that you lack stemming from your pacifist nature.

Her regard was making her student jealous. The male Rain that came to pick her up spat at your shoes every time you stumbled out of the Alfa Romeo. “Who is he?” He had demanded during your first encounter before a cathedral on a Sunday morning for mass.

“Colonnello, be nice. He’s just a driver.”

She’s right. Your pittance of a relationship mimicked the fleeting relationship of master and the help in a sprawling countryside mansion, easily forgotten once out of sight. Colonnello the Rain’s resentment mimicked that of a bristling kitten. He was young and brash, even in the context of humans. His threats were superficial and the worst he did was brush past you with such force that you fell back against the driver’s side mirror.

You didn’t think too much of it until Fated Day, a year and a day from the initial meeting.

In the past, Fated Days were crowds before a platform constructed of marble and gold leaf. Audiences brought offerings of money and food and small pocketfuls of flames to spare. Favorites included charms inlaid with Sky, teas laced with Rain, tomes written by Mists. There had been music and apologies for the sacrifices, initially volunteers until the brave were dead. Then they picked out the weak. Then they picked out the strong. And finally, they picked out whoever was left. It was then that humanity started their dominance across the globe, and you fled into their shadows.

You always wondered, during those Fated Days, how it would feel to suddenly be three years old, to have small hands that could barely grasp, to have a lisp that will never leave.

**Now you know.**

You hopped in place and as the horizon rose and fell, you tripped over your now too large shoes, gagging as you tasted grass. The pacifier burned and Luce’s mark flared in response.

**Of course, what else do you expect from a conduit of phoenix fire?**

You straightened. “Not what Skull expected. I thought it would be more…” You trailed off, freezing when you noticed Colonnello the Rain staring with more anger than just jealously. “Un?”

Suddenly, there was no Lal Mirch. There was only Colonnello and his rage. “You knew?!”

“What?” the others demanded for an explanation, each with fattened cheeks and wide eyes.

**The lore around rebirth are intertwined with the stories of the phoenix, representing transformation and renewal. Not topics generally in my purview but recent events have made me aware.**

“I heard the bastard talk to himself! He knew that this was going to happen, and he didn’t tell us!”

**The young Rain has a lot of anger in him, so rare to see among Rains. Look at Lal Mirch the Rain. She has already left the group, no doubt to lick her wounds. Half curses are more painful than the full curse, no loose ends of flame leaking out of you, you see. You should call her back. It behooves you to keep your closest allies in this time of need.**

“She wouldn’t, so shut up,” you hissed, clutching your head. “Don’t talk. It’s not the right time.”

“What did you say, coglione?!” Renato the Sun hissed, grabbing your shoulder, “You were either too cowardly to tell us or you wanted to see us suffer.” You started stammering denials. “Shut up!” Your mouth clicked shut. “I don’t want to hear another word out of you unless you are on your knees groveling with apologies.”

“- attached to a Cloud like him, kora.” Colonnello snarled. “He doesn’t deserve…” His flames whipped across the reach towards you; smelling of acrid distrust and envy that had been sitting and stewing, growing and growing, until they reached a level of unmanageable power. Your own flames rose to the challenge; you held out two hands in front of your face to block but not attack.

 **You can easily crush him.** **Ants are terribly fragile. I wouldn’t mind.**

The temptation to put a man like him in his place was growing as the barrage continued. Eventually, ignoring Luce’s warning glance, your violet flames growled in warning, powered by images of burning from past Fated Days and the fear you had nurtured, knowing that the next victim might be you. You reached out…

And then, inexplicably, Colonnello stopped, his grip around your neck slackening, so close you could smell his sweat. As you blinked rapidly past a mosaic of blue dots, he shook his head in confusion. “I need to -Merda.” One step back. “I need to calm---” Two steps back. He stormed off in the direction of Lal Mirch and disappeared over the hill. He was very close to dying by your hand.

“Wait, Colonnello! Skull can explain!” From the startling realization of his near death by your hands bloomed guilt.

“Vaffanculo!” His muffled voice returned.

You turned back around to the group and shrank back. The Mist, the Lightning, the Storm eyed you with various degrees of suspicion.

Further back, Luce and Renato the Sun had their heads bent together in discussion. “It is the flames of a phoenix," she explained, "They are eternal. It’s impossible to extinguish them. They are combined in the flames of the pacifier and reborn in a new set of seven. That’s why we call them flames of the reborned.”

“Reborn. Hmmm...” Renato the Sun, soon to be renamed Reborn, mused. “Thank you for the lesson, signora.” He tipped his fedora, transitioning from shaken incredulity to tight control. Luce giggled as his chameleon scrambled at his shirt collar, little claws pulling to gain a foothold. It was sickening to watch. “Shut up, Lacche.” Then, he too left the premise, his own emotional armor piecing back together with each step.

As soon as he was out of earshot, Luce started coughing, a hand over her mouth and another across her pregnant belly. You tilted your head to the side and scratched at your mark, frowning in thought.

Of all the suspects in the world, Reborn was the most and least likely man to father Luce’s child. You had tried very hard to disabuse that hypothesis, but in your hearts of hearts, you knew it to be true. One: Luce and the Giglio Nero would settle for nothing but the best. The best in this era used to be Bermuda von Veckenschtein before he was conscripted into the Vindice. After him, Reborn emerged as the greatest in many fields. The push and pull dynamic between the couple was fraught with flickers of want-want-want. Preening and flirting and sideways glances and grooming. Luce didn’t have that relationship with, say, Fon the Storm.

Two: you had accidentally walked in on them around nine months ago. You had finished your businesses early, managing to secure your first safehouse (not theirs, just yours – Viper the Mist would be proud that the lessons did not go to waste) with services rendered. They were in the kitchen. Reborn had Luce bent over the counter at an angle where you saw and heard everything. Luce’s breasts were spilling out of her dress, Reborn was massaging one as he snapped his hips forward, his trousers at his knees, kissing her neck. Luce’s moans were louder than the slapping of skin against skin and it only encouraged him to move faster.

They had not seen you.

Nine months later, Luce gave birth to a healthy, screaming, baby girl. During the four hour of labor, dilated at ten centimeters, surrounded by expensive doctors and midwives encouraged her to push, Luce began coughing up blood. Aria the Daughter was handed over to Reborn who accepted her stiffly and did not treat her like a daughter. Aria the Daughter grew and Luce never found the strength to leave that bed.

She continued to deteriorate at a frightening pace. Of all the I Prescelti Sette, only you and Reborn visited her on a weekly basis: you out of obligation due to contract and he due to water of the womb. The others dropped in and out of the picture with well-wishes that went nowhere and gifts for the girl.

You were woken up one night by a phone call. The screen told you it was from Reborn but the voice was that of a child’s. “Hi. Is this- is this Mr. Skull? I am Aria. Mama wants to see you before she leaves. Mama has a story for you.”

You arrived within the hour and found yourself to be the last of the Arcobaleno in the room. Aria the Daughter was kneeling at Luce’s left, Reborn at the child’s right. Luce was breathing shallowly, lips blue and cold to the touch. Her eyes slowly opened as you burst in, wheezing and out of breath. I was already there, standing behind Reborn.

“Lacche, where have you been?”

**She does not have long. I have been waiting for months.**

“I know that,” you replied, unsure as to who you were replying too. “Luce. You called for Skull?”

“Impertinent.” Reborn snarled, yanking you to the bedside.

Luce’s petite body was buried underneath layers of sterile comforters filled with goose down and yet she shivered. “Skull de Mort. I have a story for you. I have to tell it to you before I go.”

You stepped back into Reborn and yelped when he pushed you forward. “No.”

“Please. I need to.”

**You should listen to her. It is my story.**

“Cousin. Skull's problems are too big for you. No one should know the dying. You can't.”

“I must. It’s your story. Let me.”

**I placed your story in her. I will not let her go until she tells it. She knows this.**

The more you fought against her, the longer she was alive, the longer she was in pain. Reborn’s grip tightened. You will have bruises tomorrow. So, you slumped into a chair as she took a deep breath and started whispering a tale laced with Sky. The clock struck midnight. An illusion overlaid her form – that of a young, thin, brunette boy of Italian and Japanese descent, eyes closed, still. After Luce finished her story, she apologized to Reborn and fell back asleep. By morning, I had taken her.

LUCE’S STORY

There was a world that earned many names throughout its creation. It held its inhabitants, those attuned to the cycles of life and those blissfully unaware, living in surprising harmony. Before anyone with two legs, before anyone with the physical means of communication and work, there were phoenixes. Oh, how beautiful they were, as the tales went, of sunrise and sunsets, of tabula rasa and catharsis. People felt clean at the sight of them, sins burned away by a single feather. With such value, was it a surprise to learn that they were hunted mercilessly across the globe? My ancestor, Sephira, was still alive when the last phoenix buried himself under a mountain out of grief for the extinction of his kind, but not before he had accomplished much.

He had given the peacocks his prettiest plume, allowing them to strut with violet embers trailing behind. He had cried over the oceans and seas, causing the horizons to glitter like diamonds under the sun, blinding to the eyes of mortals. He was the only phoenix to have conversed with Death.

His departure caused an imbalance in the world of rebirth towards one of destruction. The world could not accommodate the loss of phoenixes and their endless amounts of flame. My ancestors could not make adequate amounts to be sustainable, so they found a way to slow down the path to the end.

Yes, Reborn the Sun. Yes, as an aside, that is how we formally addressed strangers. The solution lied in the pacifiers and their holders who are cursed with a lifeline cut in twain. Countless ones dying and offering and dying and offering and dying and for what end?

The last phoenix of the world sobbed with this revelation and begged Death for mercy. And this is what Death told him. This is what the last phoenix told Sephira, my ancestor, who had her own hands tied by the fates, turned into a villain with inaction, as I am too.

Listen closely, Skull de Mort.

There are other mysteries in this world other than phoenixes and flames.

In the time of humans, there was a boy who became a man. His name was Giotto the Sky. He was a creator of a brotherhood with that dying flame and while his cohorts initially used it to help those who needed saving, their purposes eventually grew corrupted over his lifetime. He watched with the grief akin to that of the last phoenix as his blood kin slowly took over his brotherhood and he fled across the wide seas with the help of his family.

There, while residing on neutral sanctuary grounds, he accommodated his life to a sleeping town. In that town, he found the same young woman on every street corner. The townspeople whispered in her presence, bowed when they made eye contact. Giotto the Sky asked the townspeople who she was.

“She is someone who wanted to help people in her best ability. Perhaps she could help you, foreigner,” the townspeople replied with a finger to their lips.

On a day of falling jasmine petals, Giotto the Sky approached the young woman bearing gifts of warm meals of his homeland, hearty and full – fresh sprigs of saffron, grilled lamb and rosemary minutes old, a cassata stored carefully in a box, moistened with liqueur and layered with ricotta and candied fruit. “Please, kind woman, please help my people.”

He revealed his life before her eyes.

“Oh, Little Sky. Little Sky. You are in pain,” she sighed as she accepted the offerings. She allowed him to cry. She kissed him - once on the forehead, once on each cheek, once on the mouth. “I see you, human phoenix, I see you. I can heal your ailments. I can take that pain away.”

“How?”

And the young woman told him this.

“I am the town. I am the people. I am in every heart and soul. I am in you now that you are here. I am the trees and the streets and houses, and I hear and I listen and I have learned. There are rules to be followed and years to pass for your fire to build. You will not live to see the fruits of your labors.” She told him kindly. “Are you willing to give me this sacrifice?”

Giotto the Sky agreed.

“I will take your core of flames, the amount just enough so that you are a smoking wick. I will store them in my forehead for decades and more as you wander my town and seek your fortunes. You will come upon a young woman, a nice woman, and you will start a family with the encouragement of your brothers. I will bear your flames until your corrupted brotherhood comes to its tenth generation, long after you are nothing but remains of bone and soil to feed my trees. Then, I shall seek out your descendent whose blood will be so diluted he will barely have a drop of your character.

“I will bear your descendant’s descendant, Little Sky. He will be weak. He will be strong. He will change what you made into what you wish it to be. He will have your flames. He will be made in your image. He will save the world. He will conquer the path to destruction. This, the world has told me.”

Her name was Namimori.

It was a complicated name for someone of Giotto the Sky’s tongue.

He called her Nana.


	2. Per correr miglior acque alza le vele omai la navicella del mio ingegno

Aria grew at the rate of sunflowers, an underlying fracture in her rising maturity, like stretch marks on thighs and knees. Her growth was one of urgency to continue her line and it was not a pleasant experience, following her life, like one would imagine. You drifted through your daily activities with half a mind, adopting old habits before you were forced into the company of fire active humans, awareness onset coming abrupt like vignettes every few days. Reborn had found you many times sitting in one place for hours on end, gaze like glass in the far distance, idly tossing your flames from one hand to the other, waking up just enough to make sure that Aria wasn’t venturing near the river.

She was too young to control her mother’s charges, not at least for another few years. And, after making sure that her basic needs were met by the Giglio Nero, the I Prescelti Sette traveled to Japan to conduct their investigations.

“I have relatives scattered across many nations of East Asia,” Fon said as they peered at various prefecture maps of Japan, “In fact, I have family in Namimori who knows the location of the Vongola Primo’s last resting place. My sister can host us for our stay.”

The group landed and stayed there for a total of two months. You found Namimori. You found Giotto di Vongola’s ashes. You found the lineage that named their men after Japanese military leaders. You did not find Namimori the woman; you did not find anyone named Nana.

“Stories have to keep going unless you know what to look for to stop it, Reborn-sempai,” you insisted when you saw Reborn glaring at the map, having picked up the mannerisms of the locals regarding honorifics. “Skull-sama learned that at an early age.”

“You are not helping us, Lackey.” Reborn snapped. “Are you telling us to quit?”

Viper the Mist nodded in thought, “Mou. We are wasting so much time and resources. There were so many things I could have done if I weren’t in this backwards town chasing a legend.”

“We all have Lackey here to thank for this dead end.” Reborn leaned back, kicking up his feet.

“Reborn.” Fon the Storm said sharply. “We have enough problems without you trying to start a fight.”

“But he’s right,” Colonnello rebutted, “Any help from Skull has us running in circles. You know and I know and he knows that there’s more that he’s not saying, kora.”

**There is no sky to hold him back. You should practice caution.**

“Lackey.” Reborn’s voice jolted you back to the present. “Look at me.”

“- so, I’m just suggesting that he needs some encouragement to reveal his secrets.” Colonnello finished with a grim tone. “I can do it.”

“There is no point in me staying here.” Viper the Mist muttered.

“Wait, Viper the Mist. Don’t leave me here with them.” You pleaded. But Viper was gone.

“This will not end well,” Fon the Storm observed.

“I don’t see anyone, including you, stopping us,” Reborn smirked as he pushed his chair back and stood. Fon the Storm shook his head as you cocked your head at the two men slowly approaching. “I have been waiting for this exact moment for a very, very long time.”

**This is where we approach the topic of ethics.**

Your violet flames flickered in and out of existence, matching your inner debate: should you fight? You claimed to be a pacifist, but you weren’t always a pacifist. Pacifists hold out till the very end, despite the world beating their faces black with Sun and Rain. You struggled to comprehend the multiplying constellations in your vision and found that you lacked the will to rend and tear. Reborn’s fingers dug into your hair and pulled. You opened your mouth to scream and they took that opportunity to punch in your teeth.

“Come on, Lackey. Something ought to have rattled loose in there.”

When you came to, you were upright, cold fingers grasping your chin. “Gahhh…” You spat out a bloody tooth. “Sempai, whyyyy…” Sempai wasn’t touching you. I was.

**Just say the word.**

“Noooooo… Skull-sama don’t need you to fight for…”

Reborn clicked his tongue as Colonnello snarled, “Nothing. Absolutely nothing in his empty head.” You double-over with the force of a military issued boot into your stomach. “Useless!”

On a brighter note, this incident will destroy the relationship between Colonnello and Lal Mirch for at least ten years before the former’s newly awakened flames settled into the typical Rain-like peace. Lal Mirch may not be your friend, but she did not tolerate unprofessional behavior or a lack of self-control. It took ten years for Colonnello to finally apologize for the pain he inflicted, contrite and with a dipped head, his superior glaring at his back a few meters away.

“Verde, are you interested in trying?” You passed out by this time.

“Hmm. Why not?”

I followed them as they hauled your body to a stretcher and transferred you the back of a small van. I followed overhead down winding roads of the Japanese countryside to an old Yakuza hold where Verde the Lightning had set up a lab with his imported equipment. “Gently. I said gently!” He snapped on gloves, carefully depositing you to the sterile table. “Out. The lot of you, leave me.”

Twenty minutes later, Viper the Mist appeared at the far corner of the lab, floating by the ceiling. “Mou. How far are you going to go?”

“You again?”

“De Mort never says much but the Arcobaleno powers might fail if you kill him.” Viper the Mist peered over his shoulder, “None of us wants that.”

Verde the Lightning grunted and turned away, grabbing a recorder off the shelf and turned it on. “Specimen C19R4724. Day one of study. The time is two am. Specimen is unconscious due to blunt force trauma but otherwise no obvious bleeding or distress.” He started with monitoring of heart, blood pressure, pulse, and placed probes on your head. “Stable vitals. No seizures though nonspecific increased activity in the frontal lobes.” He scanned your entire body and drew blood. “Unremarkable anatomy. Negative for brain atrophy, ruling out prolonged schizophrenia or dementia or trauma. Negative for perfusion defects. Levels of known medications in blood stream negligible, any positive result likely to be computer error.”

“Why do you think he uses the -sama honorific for himself?”

Verde the Lightning gave an aggravated sigh. “I don’t have time for this. And I thought you better than bringing up frivolous musings.”

“Mou. I am an information broker; I must think of these things.”

“Well, think of it silently! You’re distracting. It’s bad enough to have a new Rain amongst our ranks who can’t even control his temper, throwing fits here and there, only to have our Sun encourage him for the chaos.” Verde the Lightning took a deep breath and then another. “Continuing theories to explain his unquantifiable Cloud flames include bloodline though his parentage would have attracted attention. My colleagues have informed me that his telomeres regenerate even after being stained and fixed under fluorescence. The only other hypothesis remaining would be that he has survived far past living memory and that he is –.”

“Do you think that what Luce claimed was true?” Viper the Mist interrupted. “He thinks he’s better than us because he was before our time. He’s not us. He’s older than us. Hence – sama.”

“… Not human.” He closed his eyes and rubbed his brow. “There has,” he spoke haltingly into the voice piece, “been some speculation of a humanoid species prior to the rise of homo sapiens. It’s an idea often laughed at by the scientific communities, but pockets of supporters do exist. There are tales from multiple families across the globes with stories of how their ancestors interacted with these beings, having been collected by anthropologists, with a standardized cultural belief and even religion.”

“Luce is descended from one of them. He is too.”

“They don’t have a name for themselves. Many terms have been thrown about by experts including primogenitures, others, gods, aliens, fae, earthlings... Will send lab specimen back to Italy to have complete genetic mapping done though cursory studies show the same number of chromosomes and relative sizes as that of homo sapiens, which was predicted due to known observation of their kind reproducing with our kind. End transmission.” Verde the Lightning took a step back and then waved at your body, “Are you able to enter his mind?”

“It’ll wake him up.”

“It’s fine. I’m done with him. I’ll tell Reborn that I couldn’t find anything.” He grimaced as he pulled off his gloves and disposed them, “I never thought that an inverted Sun would be more annoying that its classical counterpart. That man can ---” He muttered more insults as he stepped back, and Viper the Mist drew closer. “Should’ve done this from the start.”

Viper the Mist touched your temple, the exact site where Kawahira the Mist had brushed his fingertips. You awakened. Between that time of flame and awakening, you saw the vision I offered you. You glimpsed the future: the prophecy child sat among an elaborate garden of statues. He bore an impeccable likeness to Giotto the Sky. He’s holding the orange pacifier. Behind him were the chained ones. Bermuda von Veckenschtein said, “That last phoenix should’ve taken Death with him. We wouldn’t be in this mess if he had. How do you make a phoenix? What are you going to do, Cherep?”

You awakened.

“Stop screaming.” Verde yelled from across the room where he began unplugging his machines that were angrily spitting sparks.

You were sweating blood, crying blood, spitting out blood. You did inventory: no teeth missing, no limbs missing, flames intact. Your skin steamed in places that your bruises had once been. You squirmed away from Viper whose face was inches away from yours and rolled onto the ground as Verde’s voice grew louder in irritation. “You died,” Viper stated flatly instead of saying hello.

“I did?” You asked faintly.

**You did. While your visions raced by, you died. I revived you.**

“We’re going back to the Giglio Nero house. Fon has a plane from his extended connections that’ll leave in four hours,” Viper continued with a scowl, as if the idea of anyone other than themselves, especially the contrarian Storm, having more funds that they, was physically painful.

“Get over it.” Verde snapped.

Viper turned to hiss at him. After a silent battle of wills, in which Mist almost too easily slammed into Lightning with impunity, Verde left the room, lingering green flames sulking where he once was. “No one speaks to me like that unless they have leverage to back it up,” Viper muttered. “Now you.” You scrambled further back as Viper floated closer. “Did you know that your memories were altered?”

“Yes.”

Viper frowned. “Then why didn’t you trying to fix it? It’s distasteful.”

“Because I know…” You frowned too. “Skull-sama…” You touched your temple in puzzlement and struggled to maintain concentration. An indigo headache bloomed behind your eyes. Why couldn’t you pursue this avenue of thought? What sort of geas did Kawahira the Mist insert to replace the blankness of your past? Prior to the mafia, you had the circus, touring across the world. You knew this. Then why did you never seek them out? You felt a preternatural chain crack. “Oh no.”

“Hmmmm.” Viper mused.

It’s been years since you’ve last seen them, last heard from them. For all you knew, they were decimated by Kawahira the Mist because someone like you shouldn’t have weak spots. Reborn might have done the deed if he knew your past. “Blyat. I must go. I have to see.”

“See what?” Viper demanded, “Stop for a minute and think clearly. Where are you going to go? What do you even hope to have accomplished with someone obviously passively controlling your decisions?”

“Skull-sama needs to see his people!” You yelled, flames licking all four walls as whatever lock was placed in your skin cracked. You clenched your hands into fists, fighting for control, careful not to hurt the other. Your agitation caused your accent to resurface. “Circus of Souls was home. We travel. Skull-sama protect them. While was there, death will not touch them. You can’t stop me! Skull-sama will stop them!” A large crack appeared, running across the ceiling, stopping just a foot short from the pipes. You breathed out slowly, “Viper the Mist. Viper. Move to the side. Now.”

After a few moments of stunned silence, Verde’s mocking voice drifted from the other room, “Did you forget that Clouds have territories? Rookie mistake, Mist.”

Viper snarled in frustration, their scowl returning darker twice-fold. “Mou. You know as well as I do that you’re not in any shape to start your journey.” You met Viper’s gaze. “I have a proposition.”

This is Viper’s proposition.

“I am the Information Broker known as Mammon. I will find your troupe. If they are in any way intact, I will go with you to do whatever it is you want to do whether to bargain, save, or fight. I will be upfront, part of my reason is to see what you are capable of, but rest assured I will step in for whatever is necessary. In return, I want to insert some agents into your circus. You will hide them. They do not need to be paid. They will report back to me with every move, that is, of course, if your circus is still thriving. I also want to initiate a Cloud-Mist bond. Don’t look me like that, you know as well as I do that we are not operating at our best. Have you seen Reborn without a harness to restrain him? Verde’s uncontrolled ambitions have made him less receptive. No one has even touched the new Rain. Aria cannot hold us down, I need an anchor, any bond will do, for sanity until I, impossibly, find a compatible Sky. Deal?”

Viper held out a hand. You shook it, grip tightening when Viper finished their part, “Assistance for Protection. Information scattered between. Sku- I recognize the trade.” Your flames flared and surged into the other, up the arm, engulfing the form in violet.

Viper cocked their head, “This binding is something not human? Interesting.” You shrugged.

“It doesn’t matter.”

Viper huffed, “You have no idea what I consider important or not, Skull de Mort. Now listen closely to what I have to say.”

After two weeks of research, this is what Viper had to say.

Circus of Soul, Cirque de L’Ame, Tsirk Dushi, and all the versions of names they operate under from country to country, had been on the run for the past eight months from a mafia famiglia called the Carcassa. Circus of Soul had enjoyed the luxury of being under a watchful eye of a powerful Cloud and with that lack of protection came curiosity and greed. You see, prolonged exposure to your doses of dying would create certain quirks in humans. Your ventriloquist could throw multiple voices at once, her puppetry moving without strings. Your pianist had quadrupled her lifespan until her hair turned white though she is still, ironically, suffering from an undiagnosed chronic illness. The stagehands once forgot to fully set up the stage and your tightrope walker did not notice the lack of rope yet still performed. This was just a few of the tales circulating the networks.

Circus of Soul had not stayed in any one city for longer than two days, just enough to attract the crowd, sell the tickets, perform, and leave with the subtleness of a whisper. The fact that they were still able to turn a profit made Viper’s head spin. Circus of Soul had been in Naples when you had disappeared. They waited nearly a month for any news of your whereabouts but even the few scouts they sent out came back empty handed. After that was Bari, across the sea to Sarajevo, Bucharest, Donetsk where a local seer read your pianist’s palm and warned her of an early death, straight south to Aleppo, Damascus where another seer warned the group that they were being actively hunted by the Carcassa.

After that, Circus of Soul fled to Africa: Khartoum, the northern most point of Boma national park, Kampala, Harare, Port Elizabeth, across the sea to the continent Antarctica where they performed for the Adelie Penguins and avoided the research stations. Across the Weddell Sea, north to the tip of the Antarctic Peninsula, across the Drake Passage to Ushuaia, hugging the eastern coastline of Argentina, Uruguay, Brazil where they were pinned on all sides by the mafia famiglia.

**What are you going to do, Cherep?**

It was eight-thirty pm by the time you and Viper landed in Sao Paulo in an airship made by Verde. After getting lost in Vila Madalena, you ended up twenty minutes late to Circus of Soul’s ten pm showing. Memories flooded in as you worried the edges of your violet tickets, walking between five sets of draperies, one entrance after another, and then before you: lights.

Viper wrinkled their nose. “Excessive.”

You stumbled to your seats, settled in, and watched for danger. The trapeze artists held onto the bar by their very toes, hair unchanging as they flew. The center stage collapsed, and a platform rose in its place, holding a piano and your star pianist. She performed a virtuoso while men and women cartwheeled around her, ignoring the roses thrown at her feet. Then, after five minutes of trance, the audience, full of men with thin mustaches, hiding guns in their belt holsters, clapped.

See there, on your left, among the pinstripe suits. Your ventriloquist stalked the shadows of an elderly man with a ring on each finger, one glowing faintly orange. The jesters waited in the rafters.

The pianist bowed once, twice, and cleared her throat. “Welcome! One and all! To Circo das Almas! My name is Lavina and I am in fine form to see each and every one of you today for we have a special guest amongst our numbers!” The mafia men murmured to one another, fingering their weapons. “We the troupe had sensed his late arrival the moment he touched the soil of this land. Please, come to the stage!” She gestured in your direction, “Don’t be shy!”

Despite Viper’s urgent hisses to remain incognito, you pulled yourself off your seat and made your way to the front. The murmurs and unrest abated as soon as they perceived your form.

“Just a bambino!”

“Adorable! Adorable!”

Lavina’s eyes widened briefly as she bent down for a better look. “Do shita?” she muttered as she scooped you up. “You’ve changed so much, Boss.”

“It is…” you started and then stopped, freezing as you smelled death. “Lavina. What did you do?”

**She had asked me for a favor. She wanted you to come today.**

“Everyone! I have a story to tell this young man!” She placed you on a wooden stool. “It is a very important one that he must hear! Would you all be interested in also partaking?” The crowd cheered.

“Today? You didn’t do anything!” You hissed.

“We worked so hard for this,” Lavina whispered in your ear. The big finale approached with heavy drums. They hounded Circus of Soul to the ends of the Earth, but no more. This is where Lavina had wished strike back against those monsters, with your help, she hoped. I told her that you would help if you were here. “Please, I implore you to listen.”

**In return, she has my story and just enough time to enjoy a son.**

“Noooooo,” you moaned as Lavina cleared her throat and tapped twice on the mic.

LAVINA’S STORY

Once upon a time, a princess from a faraway land whose kingdom was under siege by demons. She wasn’t a good princess because good princesses do not allow their kingdoms to fall. The demons were at the palace gates and she was on the other side, having tea with her favorite doll. “How do I save my people?” She asked her doll as the howls grew louder.

“You must fight.” The doll said. “You must destroy.”

“I am afraid,” the princess said.

“I will help.” After saying so, the doll grew to a monstrous size. A giant monstrous leg kicked past the gates. A giant monstrous arm swung back and demolished the shield wall of the incoming invaders. “Tell me, Little princess, would you like to join in?”

“Join in?” The princess asked.

“It is most satisfying, I assure you.”

The princess thought of her dead father and mother, dead servants and maids. She thought of her lost land and burning villages. The monster looked back at the princess, waiting.

“What shall I destroy next? I await your command.”

The princess’ breath grew heavy. Her heart was racing, and a feverish feeling had come over her. Then she said, “Stop their chariots.”

The monster’s fist immediately lashed out and struck the stone hearth from its foundations, the brick chimney tumbling down on top of it in a loud clatter. The princess’ breath got heavier still, like she was the one doing the destroying. The princess remembered villagers screaming as the enemies dragged them by their hair to empty alleyways. They salted the earth, killed the livestock, took all prisoners as slaves. They lifted their faces and jeered as she watched from her high tower.

“Take away their horses.” She said.

The monster picked up two horses and flung them into the air, so hard they seemed to sail nearly to the horizon before crashing to the ground.

“Smash the infantry!” The princess shouted. “Smash everything!”

The monster stomped onto men and women alike, onto every piece of furniture it could find with satisfying crashes and crunches.

“TEAR THE WHOLE THING DOWN!” The princess roared. The monster roared in return and pounded at the remaining forces, knocking them to the ground. The princess rushed in to help, picking up a sword and smashing through the windows that hadn’t already been broken, piercing through throats, in the spaces where the collar met the helmet. She was yelling as she did it, so loud she couldn’t hear herself think, disappearing into the frenzy of destruction, just mindlessly smashing and smashing and smashing.

The monster was right. It was very satisfying.

The princess screamed until she was hoarse, smashed until her arms were sore, roared until she was trembling with exhaustion. When she finally stopped, she found the doll watching her quietly from outside the wreckage. She stumbled back into her chair and collapsed.

And suddenly -

**Stop. Breath.**

Lavina paused and glanced over.

You blinked, once, twice, awareness snapping back like another vignette. You stood in a sea of red and dead, fingernails torn and ragged, aching from the labor. You stumbled back, tripping over chunks of flesh. Every wooden beam was broken, the settee shattered into pieces beyond counting, the tent fabric ripped into shreds. So too were the backstage rooms past the walkway, the lamps and small tables, every book torn from cover to cover. Even the wallpaper had been ripped back in dirty, uneven stripes. The only thing left standing was the piano.

Viper was yelling in your ear about Omerta and the Vindice to which you brushed off because it would take more than a simple massacre before Bermuda von Veckenschtein gathered the courage to even touch you. “Idiota! Did you not realize that everyone in your circus is a flame active because of you? You propagated their dying wills for years. This…!” Viper descended into bewildered silence.

Lavina tilted her head back to take in the carnage, facial expression too placid for the situation. Her pupils were dilated, and she was breathing faster than usual. Small amounts of Storm circled her feet, evaporating the puddles of blood wherever she stepped. She used to be innocent and kind. Her morals have since shifted enough that she would be willing to raise a child with a mafia don. This was one of the many effects seen in those who were willingly touched by death.

Viper prodded at your face, frowning at the lack of tears, reaction, or hysteria. “You are awfully nonchalant about what just happened.” You whimpered and dropped your head to your knees, “Yes, you have that reaction. But I expected more… You’ve always cried during missions, but you never have the behavior of trauma. Didn’t you claim to be a pacifist?”

“Skull-sama is normal,” you hoarsely insisted, rubbing insistently at your collarbone where Luce’s mark had disintegrated during your episode of blind Cloud rage. “Skull-sama avoids bad things. But bad things keep following.” You glared at my robes. “You used me.”

**You needed this manifestation of your flames to be free. Why aren’t you happy to be free of obligation?**

“And there you go. Interesting. Less yourself and, again, removed from the rest of us. I felt it this time with the bond. Fading away until we stop noticing.”

You did not understand Viper’s musings. “Again?”

“Yes. Again. Idiota,” suddenly Viper grew irritated. “Mou. Reborn wouldn’t be happy.”

Before you could open your mouth to inquire further, you were interrupted by a soft voice from the front of the stage. “De Mort,” You and Viper turned towards Lavina who had tucked her hands behind her dress, dancing lightly on her toes, swishing her summer dress that was dripping at the hems. She looked like a princess in a fallen castle. “The story.” She gestured emphatically at the bloody mic, “It’s not done yet. You have to listen until the end.”

**Yes. Let us continue until the end.**

And suddenly the princess was back in the main foyer. The princess saw that she had destroyed almost every inch of it. A broken tea set before her and on her left a broken door, splinters at all angles in the upholstery. There was no one here. Everything was destroyed. Everyone was dead. The walls of the palace began to crumble. She began to weep.

Fortunately, this inevitable story is avoidable. You were meant to be both the princess and her doll, but you have me, your friend, to change your destiny. Regardless of your fear of my touch, for my touch causes a loss in humanity and perception, of presence and time, you need me. This is what can happen if you do not obey these following instructions.

Listen closely, Skull de Mort. And you, Viper the Mist.

In twenty years, the tenth generation of Giotto the Sky will begin, and you are to go back to his final resting place. At that time, the town will accept you and only you within the walls. There, you will meet the one who will eat Death and you will stay by his side and protect him.

====

A Psychopomp Walks into a Shaggy Dog Story

“Enrico Fermi’s funeral is tomorrow,” Reborn announced, tilting his fedora down and allowing a path for his chameleon to scramble down and land onto his shoulder. “Killed by one too many bullets in a gunfight gone wrong. No one had seen me through Viper’s Mist flames and Vongola Nono suspects nothing.”

“Good. Good.” Viper rubbed their temples, “One down, two to go before our Namimori child can claim the Decimo title. At least the stubborn one is out of the way.”

“Massimo the second son has a hobby of fishing alone in a river ten miles from the estate. It would be very easy to stage another accident with Rain flames, or at least an ironic death.” Fon observed. “Federico may be the hardest if the head of CEDEF begins to suspect foul play.”

“What about the fourth one?” Colonnello ventured. “I was told that there’s a fourth son.”

“Adopted,” Reborn dismissed. “Vongola rings are inherited by blood. Timoteo had informed me during a moment of weakness.” Verde shook his head as Reborn continued to gloat about his connections.

Fon set down his cup of tea and stood. “Going somewhere?” Colonnello asked.

Viper’s cloak slowly rose into the air without a breeze. No one noticed but Fon. “I have a meeting with our Cloud. The details will bore you,” he gave his enigmatic smile as Colonnello wrinkled his nose. Unbeknownst to him, you were enjoying the shade offered by the vines in southern gazebo, tapping your foot and squirming on the bench as you waited. Fon bid them farewell and left the room.

A few minutes later, Reborn will glance outside the window as Colonnello and Verde bickered about logistics of murdering the remaining Vongola heirs as well as speculations surrounding one Mr Iemitsu Sawada, a man who immigrated from Japan and seemly out of nowhere became one of Nono’s closest confidants. He will see Fon and you conversing, heads close together but he won’t be able to hear his words or read your lips. He will wonder idly what idiotic plan you have cooked up. The espresso cup in his hand will shatter. He will not see you for another few years.

Fon clasped his hands and said to you, “My extended family have safehouses scattered in and out of the town. I’ll inform my sister to expect you and you will be accommodated. You will not be bothered while you stay with this woman who is a town.”

You slowly blinked. “How many favors did you owe Viper?”

Fon winced, “Quite a bit. I didn’t have to. I could’ve paid my way through by other means.” He straightened, “I’m doing this because I haven’t done things before when I should have. So now I do right whenever I can with whatever I got.” He placed a finger to his lips, “Viper has only hinted at your role in all of this. The others have no idea. I wish you luck.”

Once again, you crossed the seas, playing Spyfall with Oodako as your airship dodged cumulonimbus clouds and the jet stream with radar, avoiding government radar with Mist flames. As you neared, over radio, the Hibari family gave you clearance to land on a small helicopter pad on top the roof of a middle school. Uniformed middle school children escorted you to the doorsteps of a quaint looking home: five windows, two stories, a mailbox, an immaculate lawn. You breathed in the Indigo scents of jasmine blossoms, shivering from the thrum of power from Namimori soil. Another Mist was nearby.

The door opened before you had the chance to knock. You saw a young woman holding a restless toddler. “Ara ara.” She peered at you with wide brown eyes. “I was told you were coming, Arcobaleno.”

“Na--- Na---” You stammered in the face of someone so vast, failing to pronounce her true name, craning your neck back. “Ah… Skull-sama apologizes!”

“Not human,” she drew back and laughed, Mist flames poking at the scar where Luce’s mark had once sit. “Oh, it’s been a while since I’ve seen your kind around. Nana thought you had all died out.” She stepped back, “Where are my manners? Please come in.”

“Thank you. Thank you for not killing me!” You bowed. “Skull-sama has been bad!”

Her eyes scanned you and briefly met mine, lowering them out of deference. She tilted her head in thought before smiling kindly, slowly approaching like one did to a wounded animal. “It’s alright,” she cooed, “Nana isn’t going to hurt you. In fact, she trusts you with her son! Her one pride and joy. Here, Tsuna-kun, say hello!”

You heard a child giggling in your ear. Glancing up, you see a pair of glowing eyes and fat grubby hands reaching towards you, baby Sky flames ruffling your hair. “Hello.” You buried your face into that orange warmth, a sob rising from the back of your throat. You began to cry.


	3. Segui il tuo corso et lascia dir les genti.

The inciting event happened on a Saturday morning in spring, exactly while you were brushing your teeth, staring at your clean face contemplatively, blocking multiple unknown numbers on your cell, all from Reborn who was under the impression that he ever had power over you. Fon’s sister had laughed as she removed the tracker from the hardware during your first meeting. “What a pitiful man,” she had observed. Oodako lapped the bathtub, occasionally splashing your ankles.

You received the phone call from Nana while you were eating breakfast, a bowl of semolina porridge and a side of golden brown syrniki. “My son. Cherep, my husband took my son.” Nana groaned, deep in her chest. It was a sound so painful, that Ookado shivered and climbed up the porcelain. She made it again. And again. And again, until it became a single sound, a single, ongoing, horrible keen. “My son.”

You cradled your phone to your ear. “Uh, Nana-san?” voice high and tight with terror.

And then she screamed. You ran.

The Hibaris had asked delicately, as you constructed a suitable garage for your adjusted motorcycle, what you were waiting for while at the Sawadas and your purpose in Namimori. “One day, my brother told me to expect your company, Mort-san. I had expected a change with the way he described you, but years have passed and…” Fon’s sister shrugged as she watched her own son and Tsuna running outside in the yard swinging sticks. You accidentally made eye contact with the little Hibari who then bared his teeth and snarled through the window. His Cloud traits were manifesting as a habit of challenging anyone he thought was stronger. You, amused, had once catered to his demands but stopped after Fon’s sister pulled you aside and informed you that with the training, the little Hibari was starting to hurt people twice his age, thrice his age, four times his age.

You had hummed and repeated word for word what I had told you on the first day you had arrived. “Things start with an inciting event. You will know it when you see it.”

You kept vigilance, wondering how a cute baby Sky such as Tsuna would be able to reverse the Arcobaleno curse. Nana had allowed you to visit him every weekend after the initial meeting, proclaiming that a bond had been formed between and how sweet it was and please, take this container of eel onigiri, they taste very good even reheated, and you are much to thin, are you sure you are looking after yourself properly?

Is she right? Was it a bond? Had it been, like your first meeting with Luce and Kawahira the Mist years and years ago where an old, ancient part of you roused from a deep sleep and recognized someone not human? Would that explain your initial reaction?

Before Luce, before Kawahira, in the depths of your memories, you recalled kneeling on a flat pillow, drinking coffee in a small shop in Constantinople. Bermuda von Veckenschtein had sat across the low table that held a cezve, playing with the backgammon pieces. He had inverted his finished cup onto the its saucer and rotated it clockwise. He then peered at the thick layer of grounds, inverting it again and again. “The end of the world will come too late for me.”

“Eh?”

“A phoenix is never made from a phoenix; they are made by the joining of old and new dying wills with a leaning towards altruism.” Bermuda von Veckenschtein snorted, “If that was the case, then why had Sephira’s line failed so horribly generation to generation to create the prophecy child?” He placed the cup down; you stared at one other. You had a sneaking suspicion that Bermuda was as ageless as you were but had no proof to show and he was attempting to deduct your origins with a similar lack of success. Neither of you were willing to share your secrets.

“So, the prophecy child wouldn’t be made by Sephira.” You had concluded. Recall how Sephira had stepped into her leadership position with frightening ease, young when she first started, with baby fat clinging to her cheeks as her Sky whipped about, drawing potential guardians like fly to honey.

Sephira had tried to reel you in but you had always found a way to escape her orbit, leaving her burning with rage. “Her line wouldn’t produce the savior. It’s someone else. But who?”

**Come back to the present. You are here.**

You left your motorcycle on the lawn and gave it a pat before marching across the grass towards the open door, pausing with a foot over the threshold when you felt suffocating Mist concentrating in the living room. “Hello?” The screams, between the time when he hung up to the time he arrived, had turned into sobs strong enough to shake the entire woman’s back. “Nana-san?

She was using her body to shield her son from the doorway, hands hovering over his face, fingers prodding his forehead. You held your breath as you ventured closer. The miasma throbbed once, twice in warning. You made the sign of the cross as you bent down, frowning at the scene. Tsuna’s eyes were brown, they used to be orange. His mouth was partly open, drool slowly moving down one corner of his chin, limbs like a puppet without its strings. There was nothing there.

You rushed outside to puke into the flower bed.

The horror in the Sawada’s residence was one so visceral, its difficult to qualify what part was so unforgiving. It was a betrayal of the highest order. It was worse than murder, it was ending a potential, a life worse than death. If any of your kind had undergone this, they would’ve buried themselves under a mountain, and yet unable to wish for death because they had no dying will.

“Please,” Nana crawled towards me, kissing my feet, “Please, honorable elder, there must be some way to reverse this. My husband had done this with his ancestor’s blood. They are human. Just human. Your dominion extends beyond that. You must do something. He’s important. Can’t you see?”

**There is nothing to reap. As I perceive him, I do not sense a soul.**

“You don’t understand,” you would later insist to Fon when he asked what was so horrific about sealing flames. “You can’t feel anything. There was nothing there. _There was nothing there._ ”

**A common practice by the mafia famiglias to clean up the question of succession. Luce was careful not to reveal this, knowing how sacrosanct the fire is to every being that is not human.**

Nana sobbed, grabbing at the grass and tearing handfuls from the lawn. “It’s reversible. I’ve seen this horror reversed four times since my creation. I need the flames of that criminal. For my son. The brotherhood, oh Giotto the Sky, your brotherhood is under peril, Nana will take their… What do you think you are doing, Cherep?” It was not a question. You froze.

Your finger hovered over you contacts list of your phone, trying to decide who to contact. “I… I…” You stammered as her eyes grew flinty. "Skull-sama wants to help!” You trusted Viper like family, a dysfunctional family but nevertheless, there was trust between you. You knew Verde enough to not purposely make things worse. But Reborn was the fire of the Sun, the ability to heal inherent in his very dying will. And yet, he tried his best to avoid that path and out of all of them, you trust him the least. Perhaps a bargain of sorts? After years and years of hostility mixed with fierce protection bordering on possessiveness, you still had no idea what he wanted from you. And you were too scared to find out.

The phone exploded. You will have to buy another. “You will not contact anyone, especially those of the mafia.” Nana smiled, eyes closed, tight lipped, “No one is allowed into Namimori without Nana’s permission. Definitely not her husband’s humans. No… No…” She tapped her cheek, “Giotto will still have his wish. They will come when I want them to come,” she announced with finality. And those visitors would be ignorant of her wrath. “When the time comes,” she trailed off meaningfully. When the times comes, she would trap them in with her and they would know not of what would be waiting.

“But…!” You chewed on your lip.

“But?” Nana asked.

But the Arcobaleno already had a plan of their own. Colonnello at this point was awaiting on standby for the right time to strike Massimo. Their goal was to have Sawada Tsuna as the Decimo Candidate within four years. Eventually, with the loss of his sons, Vongola Nono would surely send someone to fetch the boy back to Italy. You did not say any of this.

“Well,” Nana drew a deep breath, fists at her side. “Well, this was not too surprising. Nana knew that you had a reason to visit and that your reason was without ill intent. She didn’t know that you would keep this from her. Even you, Cherep, have secrets.” Her hand snapped out, grabbing your wrist, Mist digging deep into your skin like hot-white knives. “Come here. Help Nana help her son.”

“Don’t kill Skull-sama!” You whined in pain.

“None of that now,” Nana said distractedly, “Stop struggling. It’ll hurt Tsuna-kun if you struggle.”

**You are in pain. But it is nothing new.**

“The honorable elder,” Nana glanced back, “Your friend has a lot to say for one so…”

“Un,” you groaned in agreement as you were dragged closer to Tsuna, until your index finger touched his forehead. Indigo Mist coaxed violet Cloud into a sharp five-star point that flexed and turned at her will, prodding at the boy’s seal, puncturing the first layer so that it leaked ice.

“Gently,” Nana murmured as the seal protested under the onslaught. “A layer above and a layer below, pry it open but not enough for the strain to rebound. Tsuna-kun, look at me. Ah there we go; you are better already. Half a soul is better than none. Just enough to give me time…”

“Mama?”

“Better already,” Nana touched noses with her son. “Better than nothing.” She hugged him tighter. You rolled onto your back and covered your face from the sunlight. “Patience.”

You gasped for breath, exhaustion reaching into your diaphragm, down to your core. “Yeah. Patience.”

Regardless, you made numerous appointments to her town’s best pediatrician. Countless visits yielded no other answers. A medical anomaly some specialists proclaimed. Maybe a vitamin deficiency? Lead in the house? Nana refused to go, leaving the responsibility for Tsuna-kun’s well-child visits to you. “Humans can’t help, Cherep,” She sighed with a dangerous smile, “It’s so silly that you still try.”

Overcast clouds descended upon the city, lingering on the streets like a heavy, indigo fog. It stayed there for months and months on end. The trees outside the Sawada House to be floating. Your neighbors began to speculate whether the nearby factories were to blame. Nana’s fury remained palpable as Tsuna returned back to school, continuing as he stayed later and later after classes to clean the rooms for disturbing lessons, as he got cornered by his year mates outside the school campus, as his grades fell, as he tripped and stumbled and stuttered. “Half a soul is better than nothing.” Nana murmured like a mantra as she watched her son leave for school, day after day after day after day.

The bond between you and the boy resonated with his fear of all things in the world. He cried every day a few days a day from multiple sensitivities, the mere grass brushing against his feet proving too stimulating which you had accepted dubiously until you saw angry hives spreading from his toes to his ankles to his calves to his thighs and rushed for the steroid cream before he started feeling short of breath. Was this a common side effect of people with sealed flames or was it unique to only Skies? Nana’s complexion darkened whenever you ventured to ask, hands tightening over her kitchen knives, scraping that much deeper into the cutting board.

You wanted to ask someone, anyone. But Nana’s hold over her town’s borders grew oppressing as information and movement slowed to a trickle, eventually stopping altogether. The Arcobaleno was out of your reach, you froze at every attempt at communication because Nana’s will chided you that this action would not be in Tsuna’s best interest. After every failed attempt, you threw yourself back onto your futon and tried to recall if the Arcobaleno had ever given a timeline for the assassinations of Nono’s heirs. How many years would it take before the line of succession turn back to Tsuna? How many years would Tsuna muddle through a life worse than death? By this point, you barely could recall the vibrant boy, his Sky leaving wisps behind him as he ran with his friends, attracting potential baby flames with his laughter.

You couldn’t feel him. There was nothing there.

Even Fon’s sister, who you tried to use as a liaison after the initial incident, had disappeared. The house was empty when you had visited on the pretense of… well, anything. A vague written instruction to her son to watch over the compound, that she had business to attend to in China and to not contact her for anything. She was part of the triads, too close to the mafia, and fled from preternatural Mist flames.

The little Hibari had growled at you behind a half-opened door. “Carnivore.” He greeted, “You are disrupting the peace.”

You had squinted, “Nana made you feral.”

“It is my duty to protect Namimori from outsiders and crowding herbivores.” Cloud lashed out against Cloud and you rebuffed his attempts with ease. He gritted his teeth in frustration.

“To protect Namimori and her child,” you had concluded. The little Hibari gave a jerky nod. A day later, the boy took over his school and eventually the town through sheer force and bruised bones, started a protection squad made of Lightnings and Storms, calling his group the Disciplinary Committee.

With no avenue to turn to, you remunerated over the latest changes in this town and its people, making a chart on the corkboard in your room with Oodako. Post-its and amateur photos and newspaper articles and website forum print outs held together with red string and push pins. “Who will come fetch him?” You muttered, stroking an imaginary beard, “Would they notice the seal? Vongola Nono will have to reverse it no matter what. But the Arcobaleno need Tsuna for the curse. Phoenix fire? Does he...? Would the Vongola help? Wouldn’t they make Tsuna worse? Nana would not let, never never never. How does Skull even do this?!”

Your only source of information from the outside world was from Circus of Soul, who had thus far avoided criminal enterprises and flew under Nana’s radar, growing unnaturally whimsical to the point that they were barely much help at all. Each time they moved, they sent a letter filled with codes interspersed with well wishes. The complete obliteration of the Carcassa had scared other unsavory organizations away. Your people had absorbed the famiglia, taking in generations of flame knowledge suitable for humans, methods of training, unspoken riches on tax haven islands, stolen art pieces, scavenged artifacts, flame active civilians (dropped off immediately in Vladivostok where your connections provided anonymity and transportation).

They sent postage stamps knowing that you weren’t allowed to reply. You shuffled through more papers, looking through letters that sat so long at your desk that they yellowed at the edges, looking for a pattern. You didn’t find one.

“Your airship traveled back to Mister Verde. He wanted to let you know.”

“A baby in a fedora is asking for you. One of yours?”

“Lavina had left us for one of them. Never quite right after you stopped by to kill the original Carcassa.”

“Heir to Vongola conglomerate drowned with concrete as shoes. Investigation completely mum.”

“We tried attacking Mafia Island again! The blond baby stopped us but its all in good fun. The Carcassa will get that license to set up tent. Eventually.”

“Lavina has a cute boy! Here are some pictures! Look at his cheeks! Look at his scowl!”

“Your illusionist did something to trick Mister Reborn away. We lost him at Svalbard.”

“Have you heard from Lavina? She’s not responding to us.”

**Your pianist has become a star.**

You tilted your head back, resting it against my leg, recalling Viper’s accusations of how death never fazed you. You didn’t know what to say.

You grew antsy. Wandering the town so often that Nana one day declared that she wasn’t needed to patrol the streets with you and little Kyoya, that the townspeople began to approach you at the street corners. They asked for blessings, luck, good grades, strong breeding, financial success, and long life. It was a good thing your kind didn’t steal babies anymore. Your balcony garden was filled with species that, upon closer inspection, had been extinct for centuries. On your doorstep, multitudes of o-mikuji and beads and warm bread and honey and water from the nearby temple well for Oodako.

One morning, on a school day, Tsuna ran up to you with a handful of store-bought milk bread. “Fix me,” he pleased. You wrinkled your nose at the plastic wrap and the preservatives meant to keep the food fresh. The boy didn’t look up; he didn’t acknowledge you by name. Tsuna-kun didn’t recognize you anymore. “Please! Tomorrow there will be… Ahhhhh…” He collapsed to his knees.

The townspeople gathered across the street murmured amongst themselves. You recognize, hidden in the crowd, the odd middle schoolers who were known to punch him in the jaw and kick his stomach until he vomited up his breakfast. “Tomorrow?”

He nodded frantically. “I have a really, really bad feeling tomorrow.”

**Impressive given the paltry amount of Sky intuition that remains.**

“Oh no.” You said, glancing up at the sun. “Oh no.”

And you woke up from the dull daily meanderings of life, as if the past four years had been sepia toned, muted to disinterest. You didn’t trust Tsuna to walk down the sidewalk without tripping. You didn’t even trust him to remember to breath when he’s distressed. But you trusted his sense of danger. It wouldn’t be too much of a stretch to deduce that Vongola’s last Decimo heir was freshly dead and that the famiglia had set their sights on the boy before you, sobbing his eyes out.

“Blyat.” You pulled at your hair.

“Tomorrow,” Nana nodded her head in agreement when you visited to confirm her son’s suspicion. She bustled about in the kitchen with her cleaver in one hand and a spatula in another. She glanced out the window, “You should come by half past three to wait.” You gulped loudly.

Tomorrow, a Vongola representative will bring with them expectations and orders. The town will wake with their presence, staring distrustfully at the foreigner, mobilizing with Mist flame suggestions to corral the new visitor towards Nana’s neighborhood. Little Kyoya stalked the streets with two new tonfas, baring his teeth at anyone who ventured too close. Tsuna darted behind him at exactly twenty meters away, tailing just within his sphere of influence to avoid his year mates.

And tomorrow came.

Nana made espresso, a decidedly un-Japanese drink. She tossed a flyer advertising for private tutoring into the bin. She dusted off the guest bedroom. Tsuna woke up late and fell down the stairs, contents spilling out his backpack. He shrieked about a test that he didn’t prepare for. He was running down the road and disappeared around the corner, chased by the local dogs who couldn’t stand the sight of him.

You arrived at four thirty and paced the living room for an hour, occasionally stopping when Nana assigned you household chores. Tsuna limped back home with a fresh batch of bruises and a black eye. Fate nipped at his heels and he had a feral gleam in his eye from a day full of paranoia and intuition screaming from the back of his head.

An hour later, Reborn showed up at your door.

He didn’t look that much different from when you had last seen him: fedora unchanged, Leon without a hint of age, tailored suit impeccable. Your vision immediately focused onto his belt where a row of bullets hung, increasing in size like matryoshka dolls. They glowed Vongola orange, tinged with the icy flare of hyper-dying will.

**That is Tsunayoshi Sawada’s cure. You should take it before he discovers your intentions. You don’t need him.**

You twitched as his sudden flashes of emotion never quite so naked on his face: shock, disbelief, suspicion, fury. That last emotion he remained upon until it darkened his entire countenance. The Vongola sent Reborn to fetch Tsuna. No. And here is where you recalled the flyer for tutoring. The Vongola sent Reborn to train Tsuna, to groom him to become one of them. Tsuna could be Sky and warmth and savior and the question that hung overhead was whether the mafia was going to help him or destroy him. You watched him grow, you didn’t want the mafia’s fingers in him.

That thought… “Sempai.” That thought filled you with disgust.

“Lackey,” Reborn tilted his fedora back and purred. You flinched. “Can I believe my very own two eyes. You, here, the entire time.”

You’re not even sure where Reborn’s motivations lie in these coming changes. I was perched on a tree branch, plucking flowers and leaves one by one as I sorted through the Sun’s loyalties.

**Tsuna’s path has been predetermined by many events: Namimori’s promise, Nana’s fury, and the Arcobaleno curse. But there is the question of how much mafia influence he is to have. Reborn is, at the core, a mafioso, born from spilled blood, continuing the tradition of his forefathers. The underworld is the only thing he had ever known as the expert of flame lore. That is where he believes your baby Sky should go.**

The boy in question peeked from behind my tree, shivering as my robes brushed against his shoulder. His eyes were brown because the mafia sealed his flames. The mafia sealed his flames, a crime worse than death because there was nothing there. You would never let Reborn take him to Italy.

You inadvertently slipped into a fighting stance, feet apart at the distance of your shoulders, hands up, flames held still just under the skin. “Skull-sama can explain.”

Reborn snorted. “You don’t need to explain anything, idiota. Allow me to tell you what you missed. I worked so hard to have Timoteo pick me as the tutor for the boy and I see you galivanting by his side without a care in the world. Nobody would tell me where you were.” He leaned in and hissed, “Do you know how much of a fool I looked searching for you?!”

He spun on his heels towards Nana’s tantalizing spider web of Mist. You scrambled after him. “Sempai, you can’t go in without knowing! Nana gave Tsuna a---”

Reborn’s flames grabbed your arms and rose as a wave and crashed down in a torrent of pressure and brightness; you can’t speak. You felt his hands follow his fire, nails digging into your skin, and you screamed in pain as visions flashed behind your eyes. Of death. Of possible events that will occur ten years from now. A future that may be. “Don’t touch me!” A new boss who sacrificed everyone around him for his ideal famiglia.

And as you screamed, someone else screamed.

“Don’t touch me! Don’t touch me!”

Reborn released you and you both took a step back away from one another, staring with a perturbed expression across the arm’s length. Tsuna’s bond with you vibrated in distress and the boy, standing under the jasmine tree, whined and wrung his hands.

“Please… Please… Don’t touch…” An uncertainty of what will happen next emerged as he quieted down.

Jagged orange flames thrashed behind the cracks in the Vongola seal. You wondered what Reborn’s next move was going to be. He was wondering too. “And there you were,” he said slowly, picking his words with relish, “I know what you are isn't the only secret you have.” He pressed Leon the gun into your forehead. You don’t move. In the past, when you were at your most antagonistic, you deliberately stepped into the path of the bullet, all the while maintaining eye contact. He remembered too.

“You have to listen.” You tried for calmness and sincerity, knowing that your referral of third person only served to irritate him further.

“Why should I?” An unreadable expression that you were in no shape to interpret flickered across his face; you focused on the click of a reloaded gun. “Always in your own world, talking to someone no one sees or knowns. Hoarding knowledge that you never reveal. Unwilling to adapt. Creating distance from the Arcobaleno. We are all you have right now.” He tilted his head towards Tsuna, “We should be.”

“Reborn-sempai! Tsuna-kun is-”

“Do you ever listen to me? Or even yourself?!” The gun dug deeper until you grew cross-eyed. “It’s Tsuna-kun! It’s your circus! It’s Viper! It’s Luce! It’s that pianist who was celebrating her two-hundredth fortieth birthday before she died from a car accident! It’s not about you! It was never about you!”

He took a shuddering breath as if forcing his temper into a little box and his muscles visibly relaxed.

You heard him say this, "It’s never about me."

That statement only confused you further.

“But, it’s fine,” he continued, “if you want to self-flagellate, suffer, be seen suffering, to be acknowledged as guilty – no. I will not give you that. We tried to bring you into the present through all sorts of means but you faded as soon as we stopped looking.” He was blaming you. “If you want Sawada Tsunayoshi’s upbringing in a particular manner, one without mafia, well I have different plans,” He laughed, “You didn’t do anything to ensure your goals so I will be taking over. You’re leaving. Now.” You stared. “The next time you reemerge, years later, he’ll be Decimo. We all agreed on this, remember? The last time I saw you? He’ll save the Vongola like Primo and Namimori wanted. Why don’t you want that? He’ll be like you.”

You: who was forced to join the mafia, forced to breath their air, forced to work with them, forced to cheat, forced to steal, enforce, dominate, murder. “Wait. Skull-sama had agreed but if there was another way without making it worse, sempai can think of other ways. He can change the mafia like Primo and Namimori wanted without him becoming one of them.” You wished to destroy the mafia. He wished to make it into something greater.

“Shut up. You don’t need to tell me that.” He calmly frowned, body language displaying professional boredom, “I know what it is you’re asking for. But I won’t. So here we stand with a difference in opinion. I know you won't die, but I think I've worked you out, Lackey. And I know how to make sure you don't get in my way.”

**Oh. He has figured it out.**

The secret to not going mad as an immortal was to remove oneself from the present reality, to passively accept but not interact, interspersed with sporadic focus. Surviving was bolstered by apathy. Meaning was driven by acknowledgement. “Here is the hardest hit of all, Lacky.” Reborn declared. “Here is the worst thing I can do to you.”

He held out his hand, as if asking for a handshake. He was asking for a handshake.

You responded almost automatically, putting out your own hand and shaking Reborn’s before you even thought about what you were doing. You shook hands like two businessmen at the end of a meeting.

“Goodbye, Skull.” Reborn said, looking into your eyes. “I will take Tsuna and I will train him to take down the curse, to take over Vongola. I don’t need your riddles. I no longer see you.”

And then he let go of your hand, turned his back, and walked away, taking Tsuna by the wrist. He didn’t look back. Choking from helplessness, you dragged your hands, growing ever increasingly intangible, down your fading face. Ten thousand kilometers away, past a non-descript door labeled Office of Finance for the Varia, you felt Viper’s flames spike in alarm at your distress.

Reborn’s words echoed in your head. “I no longer see you.”

He kept walking away, keeping good on his promise.

His words wrapped around you and squeezed. “I no longer see you.”

You looked up and shivered. The heat of the day passed through you like a ghost. The warmth didn’t acknowledge you. The sun above you indicated late afternoon. There wasn’t a cloud in the sky.

Tsuna tugged on Reborn’s grip and glanced back in fear. He watched me descend from the tree and place a hand on your shoulder.

**It is time for the third tale.**

DEATH’S STORY

**There was once an invisible man who had grown tired of being unseen.**

You kept your eyes firmly on Reborn’s retreating back. You set yourself into a walk. A walk after Reborn. I followed the path of frost from your retreating footprints on the lawn. You breathed out steam. The neighborhood’s volume dropping with each step.

 **It was not that he was actually invisible.** **It was that people had become used to not seeing him.**

“Hey!” You called. Reborn didn’t turn round. Neither did Tsuna who was concentrating too much on his two left feet to make a sound. A warbler sounded the alarm as you increased your pace. I followed, flicking my wrist as I mused.

**And if no one sees you, are you really there at all?**

“HEY!” You called loudly.

The neighborhood had fallen silent now as we moved faster after Reborn.

Reborn who had still not turned around.

You reached him and grabbed him by the shoulder, twisting him round. He, unlike your past altercations, did not sense you. His eyes narrowed, “And what are you going to do to me, Lackey? Cry in my face?” Continuing to underestimate you, he turned away.

He turned away from you.

**And then one day the invisible man decided, I will make them see me.**

“How?” You asked, breathing heavily again, not turning back to see the slow approach of the neighborhood residents, all with the same haze of Nana’s eyes, not looking at Tsuna’s reaction to my appearance at your side, though you were aware of his nervous murmurs and the strange anticipation in the air. “How did the man do it?”

Despite having asked the question, you stiffened, knowing that I had knelt, angling towards your ear to whisper into it, to tell you the rest of the story.

**He called for a monster.**

And I reached a huge, monstrous hand past you and knocked him flying across the grass.

People screamed with Nana's echoed anguish, voices carrying an unusual stucco tone, as they appeared and disappeared into Nana’s mist. They are manifestations of her will and your own headspace, slowly morphing into people you recognized. There, at the corner of your vision, Lavina clapped as Reborn tumbled past her. Viper looked aghast, first at Reborn, then at back at you.

Their faces changed as they saw you, twisting into something anticipatory, and they vanished, starting from their head and slowly dissolving to their feet. In the house, Nana waited patiently, wondering what you dared to do. You took another step forward, feeling the monster towering behind him.

“And what is this, Lackey?” Reborn remarked as he pulled himself up from the sidewalk. “An actual response? For once in decades?” He wiped at his mouth and spat out blood. He took out Leon, but you kept moving forward. I came with you, matching step for step.

“You don’t see me?” You shouted. “You don’t see Skull!?”

“No, of course not!” Leon climbed back onto the brim of his fedora as he gesticulated, “No, I don’t. No one does!”

You stopped and looked around slowly. Just mist and Tsuna and I, no one else, as if the entire town turned away, as if it was too embarrassing or painful to look at him directly. Tsuna held your eyes for longer than a second, his face anxious and hurt.

“You think this scares me?” Reborn asked, rubbing the smear of blood between his fingers. “Do you think I’m ever going to be afraid of you changing my mind?” He tilted his fedora forwards, “Skull de Mort,” he said, his voice growing poisonous. “Who knows so much for than the rest of us, still acting like an idiot, higher above, better than. And now demanding things he has no business to ask for, thinking himself entitled for impossibilities.”

You kept walking, pace never slowing. You were almost there.

“Skull de Mort who wants out of the mafia, who wants no mafia,” Holding his ground, Reborn continued, his eyes on yours. “The rest of the Arcobaleno may not care as much but there is a certain amount of order before a buffoon like you, a civilian, unwilling to change, comes in with all talk. What are you going to do to convince me that Vongola's sky doesn't belong in Vongola? You’re just a idiot who cries and screams and runs and runs and runs. You do nothing.”

**The monster arrived at his request. I am here.**

It felt like all of Namimori was holding its breath, waiting to see what you would do. “And do you know what I see when I look at you, Skull de Mort?” Reborn asked.

You clenched your hands into fists.

Reborn leaned forward, eyes flashing. “I see nothing,” he said.

Without turning around, you asked me this question.

“What did you do to help the invisible man?”

And you felt my voice again, like I was in your own head.

**I made them see**

You clenched you fists even tighter.

Then the monster leapt forward to make Reborn see.


End file.
